When 'A House of Cards' Falls
by TheManApart
Summary: A multi-POV narrative of the "A House of Cards" mission from "Hitman: Blood Money". Please read and review.


**This is just a narrative of the "A House of Cards" mission from "Hitman: Blood Money". It's one of my favorite missions in the game so I just decided to write up something of it. Hope you enjoy, and please read and review!**

**Also, "Hitman: Blood Money" is a product of IO Interactive and Eidos Interactive. I don't own any part of the franchise or the characters (but it would be totally cool if I did!).**

At the Las Vegas International Airport, Sheik Mohammed bin Faisal Al-Kalifa stepped out of his personal Gulfstream V private jet. He had been nursing a headache almost all day and, if anything, it was only threatening to get worse.

As walked briskly across the hangar floor to his waiting limousine, his entourage chased after him with the Sheik's baggage. He merely grumbled as his private security detail held the car door open for him as he climbed in.

* * *

Meanwhile, just outside the Shamal Hotel and Casino, the Mystery Man paid his cab driver the fare along with a fair tip and got out the car with his briefcase.

He looked around at Las Vegas Strip and the slightly gaudy Arabian-themed hotel and casino before he walked inside. He wasn't too worried about showing his face here; thanks to his controller Diana, he knew where the security cameras in the lobby were and, more importantly, how to avoid them.

He walked up to the reception desk and the pretty concierge. "I have a reservation. The name is Cropes."

The concierge scanned the computer screen. "Let's see...there it is. Here's your keycard," she said as she slipped the card to him across the desk counter. "Our new keycards are floor-specific, so they only give you access to the floor you're staying on."

"That's fine," "Dr. Cropes" replied, his mind already processing and analyzing the information and how he might get around that.

The concierge flashed him a big, cheery grin. "Alrighty then! On behalf of Shamal Hotel and Casino, let me be the first to wish you a very pleasant stay Dr. Cropes."

* * *

The Mystery Man ran his keycard for Suite 701 through the card reader and entered his hotel suite, but he didn't take the time to notice how comfortable it was. He immediately began looking around, checking around all corners and inside all the rooms for any hidden assailants.

Satisfied that he wasn't about to be ambushed, he put his briefcase on the bed and looked at his watch. It was time to check in with Diana; she was tracking two of his targets, the ones who hadn't arrived at the hotel yet, and he needed to know exactly when they arrived.

The Mystery Man got out his cell phone and custom-made smartbook laptop computer and hooked them up together. This allowed him to connect to the encrypted and scrambled satellite communications uplink his employers used. After several tones and brief static, his call was answered.

"47, Diana here," came the smooth, upper-class British accent of the Mystery Man, Mr. 47's controller. 47 viewed Diana as his guardian angel; her information had helped pull him out of the fire on more than one occasion.

"I've arrived at the Shamal," 47 reported. "Any new intel?"

"The Sheik has reserved the entire casino's VIP lounge for himself, but it's not a good place to strike. There are cameras everywhere and the Sheik has a private security detail made up of former special forces operators; you may have to draw him out into the open. We know that the Sheik is expecting a call from Lateef, but the casino employs devices that disrupt cell phone coverage to prevent cheating; anyone wishing to make a call must step outside. I'm sure you can use this information to your advantage."

47 had studied the blueprints Diana had sent him and knew there was a staff exit to the roof above the casino from the lounge area. He went out on to his room's balcony. The view of the roof from his balcony wasn't great for a sniper's perch, but it might be adequate enough. The neighboring suite's balcony, however, was better.

"Understood. Where are the targets now?"

"I've been watching the security camera footage and Schmutz hasn't left the bar area except to use the restroom every now and again. The Sheik is stuck in traffic and doesn't seem to be going anywhere for now."

"And the scientist?"

"Lateef's car is pulling up to the curb outside the hotel right now."

"Do you know where he's staying?"

"Suite 803; his check-in was specially arranged in advance by the Sheik, so he'll likely head right for his room."

"Then I already know where to get him," 47 answered as he hooked his phone to a headset that he proceeded to stick in his ear. He left the room, walked down the hall, and entered the elevator. He looked up and saw the hatch door at the top of the car. He pressed the button to go down to the first floor, then climbed up through the hatch to the top of the car.

47 got out his fiber wire, and prepared to deliver death from above for Dr. Lateef.

* * *

Dr. Tariq Abdul Lateef was not a calm man by nature. He had a tendency to fidgit a lot, wringing his hands or cleaning his glasses to the point that they gleamed. Reclusive, hands-on, and perhaps even a bit eccentric, his private laboratory was the only place in the world where he could truly relax and focus.

But this deal, which he fully knew to be highly illegal, had him more agitated than usual. He had taken some mild depressants on the flight over, but they didn't seem to working at all and he couldn't take anything more powerful less it would certainly affect his work and state of mind during this deal.

_Why, why did I have to be the best_, he mentally bemoaned. He had been the top researcher and scientist for Arabian Pharmaceutical Exports for five years now, so he had naturally caught the eye of the company CEO and de facto owner, Sheik Al-Kalifa. When Al-Kalifa asked him to come with him to Las Vegas to verify some DNA samples and research papers that he was buying from someone, Lateef knew better than to refuse; _no one_ in Al-Kalifa's domain refused him anything.

As the car pulled up to the curb, he continued to drum his fingers on the briefcase full of untraceable blood diamonds that he was very uncomfortable holding on to. The Sheik didn't trust the seller, so he had instructed Lateef to hold on to it; when the deal happened, the DNA samples and documents would sent up to him and the diamonds would be sent down while he verified the samples.

Lateef climbed out of the car and walked into the hotel with his own small security detail on loan from the Sheik. His guardians had been silent and professional on the trip; their job was to make sure Lateef got on the elevator to the eighth floor and then secure the VIP lounge in advance for the Sheik. Other members of the security detail would be waiting upstairs to take the scientist to Suite 803.

Lateef didn't have to stop and check in at the concierge's desk; room arrangements had already been taken care of and he had gotten the keycard for his room in advance, so he headed right for the elevator and pressed the button. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait for the elevator car to come down; it was already there waiting for him. He stepped in and pressed the button for the eighth floor; the doors closed and he began to ride up.

All of a sudden, there was something around his neck and he couldn't breathe! He was pulled up off his feet and panic overtook his mind. He clawed at whatever was around his throat, feeling some kind of wire. He kicked his legs and thrashed in the air but the wire held fast. Lateef quickly lost consciousness and was pulled up the top of the car where his assassin continued to pull on the wire until he sure Lateef was dead.

* * *

"Diana, 47. Lateef is taken care of," 47 reported as he looked down at the scientist's body lying on top of the elevator car.

"Splendid, 47. I'll keep monitoring the other targets in the meantime," Diana replied.

47 rifled through Lateef's pockets, taking whatever he found along with the briefcase Lateef had been holding onto. Waiting until the elevator doors to the eighth floor had closed, he climbed down and pushed the button for the seventh and got off there.

As he walked back to his room and prepared to slide his keycard through the card reader, he heard something that sounded like someone falling down. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at the sight before him.

* * *

Sandy Michaels definitely hadn't expected her second honeymoon to turn out this way. It was supposed to be just what she and Peter had needed; instead, she had found him flirting with one of the younger, thinner, more attractive hotel employees. And now, after consuming the suite's entire mini-bar in less than five minutes, she was ready to get back at that bastard.

As she staggered out of her room, she made a vow to herself: she would seduce and fuck the first person who she saw. She didn't care who they were; hell, at this point, sex with another woman seemed just fine with her.

She quickly fell down. As she struggled to get back up, a shadow fell across her and she looked up at the man in front of her. Damn, he wasn't a bad-looking buck; tall, shaved head, sharp features, conservative-looking suit, he was probably a lawyer or something. _Perfect_, she thought.

"Hey there, stud, you're not alone are ya?" she slurred with a big smile.

"I'm unaccompanied, if that's what you mean," he answered somewhat coldly.

Sandy was too drunk to notice his chilly tone. "Whoa! I can change that! I'm, I'm unacco...I'm alone in Suite 703 myself. Come up and see me some time," she told him as she handed him an extra keycard to her room. The stranger took it without question, and she walked away while casting a drunkenly flirtatious look over her shoulder at him.

"Quite the conversationalist," Diana remarked sardonically.

"Yes," 47 said, the wheels in his head turning as he looked at the wall plaque of the floor's fire escape plan and noticed that Suite 703's balcony was the suite next to his; exactly where he wanted his perch. "But not without use."

* * *

47 entered his suite and sat down on the couch in the living area. He deposited the items he'd looted from Lateef's body, including the scientist's passport, wallet, room keycard, cell phone, and briefcase, and examined each one carefully.

First he opened the briefcase and saw it was full of diamonds, and nodded in satisfaction; that would be worth a good bonus for a job well done. He closed it the case and moved on to the other items.

He shifted through the other effects before finally inspecting the cell phone and saw that the Sheik's number was already preprogramed into the phone's directory. _Better and better_, 47 thought to himself, his plan coming to together. On to the next target then.

As if on cue, Diana's voice came over his earpiece. "Schmutz is leaving the casino area. It looks like he's heading for the elevator."

47 nodded. "And the Sheik?"

"On his way, ETA fifteen minutes."

"Understood," 47 responded. He left his suite and headed for the elevator again.

* * *

Hendrik Schmutz loved Las Vegas. He had come here once with some old friends from the AWB in the mid-1990s and had been meaning to come back ever since.

So far he'd spent most of the afternoon in the bar, and had enjoyed chatting with the barista there. She looked to be of good Anglo stock. He told her to meet him his room, Suite 708, when her shift was over. The deal with the Sheik would be over and done with by then and he would be able to relax, among other things.

_But now business must come first_, he reminded himself as he walked to the elevator. The Sheik would be arriving in a few minutes and Schumtz needed to make sure everything was ready.

He couldn't wait to be rid of that stupid briefcase, the one with the DNA samples and research papers Al-Kalifa was buying. Schmutz had heard rumors of Al-Kalifa's corporation dabbling in cloning technology and that the Sheik was willing to pay big money for anything to further his goals; so when Schmutz had gotten his hands on the samples and documents from someone who used to work at an obscure asylum in Romania, he immediately contacted the Sheik with a business proposition. Personally, Schmutz thought that all this international debate over cloning was pointless but he couldn't ignore the money. The cause for white nationalism back home needed money to fund its activities after all.

When Schmutz pressed the button for the elevator, the doors almost immediately opened for him. Pleased he didn't have to wait, he stepped inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor. He felt the effects of gravity as the car rose and he allowed his mind to drift off again.

He was still thinking about what the barista would look like naked before he felt the wire around his neck.

* * *

Back in his suite, 47 deposited the recently-deceased Schmutz's belongings on the table alongside Lateef's. The Afrikaner had been carrying even less than the scientist, including his room keycard and South African passport, but he'd also been carrying a silenced Sig-Sauer P-229 pistol.

He'd already reported Schmutz's death to Diana, who in turn informed 47 that Sheik Al-Kalifa had arrived at the hotel and was know sitting in his private area of the lounge.

Satisfied that he already had everything he needed, 47 got the plastic bag from the wastebasket and unceremoniously dumped most of the items in it including the pistol. As soon as he was done with the phone, that would be tossed in the bag as well. Once out of the hotel, he would dump the bag in the desert or several towns away from Vegas.

_On to the Sheik then_, he thought. He went to the bedroom and collected the briefcase he'd arrived with; it contained the tool that would finish this job. He left the room and walked down the hall to Suite 703 and slid the keycard through the card reader, hoping Sandy was passed out drunk.

To his mild disappointment, Sandy was still conscious; she was sitting on the couch and was downing a bottle of vodka that was half-way done. "Well, come on in, hot-stuff," she giggled drunkenly. 47 entered without a word and looked at the coffee table; she had no doubt gotten room service to bring her more booze as there were another empty bottle sitting there.

Meanwhile, Sandy had staggered over to the center of the room and put on some slow, sensual music and started dancing. She no doubt meant to look sexy, but she merely came off as boorish and clumsy.

47 merely stood there, watching her stoically. He had syringe with a sedative of general Anaesthetic hidden behind his back and was prepared to inject her with it as soon as she turned her back to him. But 47 didn't have to use it; a moment later Sandy fell to her knees and lay down the floor, too drunk to do anything else.

He crouched down and snapped his fingers in front of her; she didn't even stir. She would be out for a while, and when she woke up she wouldn't remember anything anyways. He wondered for a moment if she might die from alcohol poisoning, but decided not to dwell on it; it wouldn't be his fault if she died.

47 pocketed the sedative and set his briefcase on the ground and opened it, revealing the parts of his disassembled Walther WA2000 sniper rifle. Compact and powerful, it was ideal for this job. He quickly reassembled it and screwed in the silencer, then went out on the balcony.

Ready and in position, 47 dialed the Sheik.

* * *

As he sipped his glass of Chateau Petrus '83, Sheik Al-Kalifa's headache felt like it may be starting to fade. Since coming to the hotel and sitting down in the VIP lounge, things felt like they were going a little smoother.

Normally, the Sheik would have shown up here a few days earlier and have already blown several million dollars at the tables, and afterwards enjoy the evenings and nights with the finest escorts in the city. But this trip had been last-minute, and considering who his clients, known as The Franchise, were, he knew better than to waste his time with any of his usual hedonistic pursuits before getting this done first.

Just then his cell phone rang. He got it out of his pocket and, seeing Lateef's name on the caller ID, he answered immediately. But all he got was static; checking the display, he saw he had almost no bars in the casino area.

Grumbling to himself, he looked around and saw there was an exit marked "Staff Only". For a moment he debated how much trouble he could cause if he used that door; but only for a moment. _Let them try to kick me out_, he thought to himself. _I spend a fortune in this city every time I come here_.

Confident that no one would be able to attack him, he decided not to inform his security detail that he was leaving. He went through the double-doors and up the stairs leading up to the roof. Once outside, he re-dialed Lateef's number.

The phone was answered on the first ring. "Sheik Mohammed bin Faisal Al-Kalifa," came the reply. Definitely not Lateef's voice.

"Who the hell is this?" Al-Kalifa demanded, his headache suddenly getting worse again.

"This is the man who's about the kill you."

A half-second later, Sheik Al-Kalifa was permanently cured of his headache as the jacketed hollow point 7.62 caliber round tore into his skull. His head exploded, blowing blood and brain matter all over the wall behind him.

* * *

47 nodded in satisfaction at the kill and went back into the room. Sandy was still passed out and had started snoring. 47 paid her no heed and began disassembling his rifle when there was a knock at the door.

"Sandy? Sandy, it's Peter. Can't we talk about this?" someone called from out outside in the hall.

47 didn't panic; he was too self-disciplined to do that. He just finished putting the rest of his weapon in the rifle case and went outside on the balcony. He tossed his rifle case on the patio of his suite, and then climbed over the railing. It would be a long way down if he missed, but he had jumped farther distances over greater heights.

He leapt across and pulled himself over the railing. Collecting his rifle case, he walked back into his suite and prepared to leave for good.

* * *

Sheik Al-Kalifa's body would be found an hour later. In that respect, he was the lucky one; even after a thorough search of the hotel by Al-Kalifa's security detail, the hotel/casino's security, Las Vegas Police, and even the FBI for other missing guests, Schmutz and Lateef's bodies wouldn't be found for another two days until after guests complained of a foul stench in the elevator and maintenance would finally be called to check it out.

"Dr. Cropes", however, would never be heard from again.

* * *

_Another successful mission_, Mr. 47 thought to himself as he left the hotel through a staff exit to his getaway car in the alley while carrying the bag of evidence, the rifle case, and the briefcase full of diamonds.

**FIN**

**Afterword: I know, I know I took a few liberties with the story. I know that Lateef doesn't have his cell phone on him and that it's in his room, but it seems pretty pointless that someone's cell phone would be in a room they haven't been to yet. And I just had 47 talking to the Sheik to give some extra dramatic effect. I also know that in-game Lateef and Schmutz use separate elevators, but I just figured, "what the hell; I'll just use one for the purposes of the story."**

**Anyways, hope you liked it. Please review!**


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